Jack Sparrow
by MySignalFire
Summary: The story of a pirate who became a legend.  Read, review, and enjoy. Rated M as a precaution.
1. The Tempest

**Author's Note:** _I'm not sure how many of you have been following me from the start. If you have, you know my aliases have been Jack's Wife, TheJokersWoman, SookehIsMine, and LadySparks. I changed mine to what it is now because it's something my best friend and I love. Anyway, if you've been following me, you also know that I've had writer's block – TERRIBLE writer's block – for well over a year. I've finally gotten back into writing, thanks to a few classes and a few pushes from friends. I wrote a story three or four years ago, called "Jack Sparrow," and I loved it. And now I miss that. Looking over it, I realized there were a lot of errors in it. So, I decided to take it upon myself to edit and redo the entire thing, trying to make it the best possible. PLEASE read, __**review**__, and enjoy. Avast!_

_

* * *

_

**Chapter One**

The Tempest

"EDWARD –" the woman screamed in pain. The man next to her, Edward, groaned. This wasn't at all what he was hoping for. He grabbed the small of her back and pushed his fingers, through her sari, to a pressure point. The woman relaxed and held her full womb. "The baby –"

"Shit," said Edward, his dreadlocks swinging fully. The baby was causing a lot of problems. Edward wasn't expecting a kid, but after all of the times that he and Sarita had gotten together, there was no reason for there not to be a baby in the picture. Not that he'd be able to check in on the little bugger. He'd have to leave the baby in Sarita's hands. "The twit's delivery will be normal. I assure you. He is, after all, _my_ son."

"And mine," she said, coughing. "Please, don't call him a _twit_, he can hear you." Her eyes were still teary from the screaming and overreaction.

"Yeah… and I can talk to dolphins," Edward muttered. _Best get her mind off of the baby._"You know, you've learned English fast. I'm very proud of you."

"I did it for you, love," she said. Sarita clutched her sari tresses and petticoat and climbed aboard the ship, Edward holding her back. She finally reached the main deck and screamed in pain.

"Not _again_," said Edward, clutching his ears for dear life.

"My water has fallen."

"What?"

"Water is falling on my legs." It wasn't as though English was Sarita's first language, but immediately, Teague understood. Sarita was in labor.

A ratty looking Indian man in a turban seized this moment of Teague's temporary shock to jump into the scene. "Sir! Captain Teague, sir?" This was the first mate on the ship. He wasn't necessarily good at what he did – in fact, he was a seedy fellow who probably stole the rations more often than naught – but Teague held a promise to his father, and therefore the Indian man was his first mate.

Teague growled. "I'm kind of busy, as you were too thick-skulled to notice."

The Indian man coughed to a slight, then he spoke in a puny voice. "I was – that is to say, we were wondering if there was another place to keep the woman. It's bad luck to have one on board, sir, we could get –"

"Do I look like I give a damn? If you're so superstitious, you might as well jump off the gangplanks, which I hear isn't a very easy thing to do. No pirates I know've done it. And if your dive doesn't look good enough to me, I'll bring you back up and make you do it until you've got it perfectly. Then the sharks can eat you." Sarita moaned.

"Yessir," said the Indian, scowling at the woman. "Stupid wench…"

"Leech," said Teague to the Indian, "don't push it."

"I am not. Is there anything else you would like for me to do?"

"Yes, I –"

"Cap'n!" said another man. He was short, somewhat bald, and his nose was rounded.

"Dennivers," said Teague. "Thank you for coming, my dear man."

"O' course, I owe you one. 'Cept I'm sure that if I didn't come, well, I finks to myself, I do, that you'll hurt me."

"Well, of course." Teague cursed under his breath. Everyone on this boat was either too panicked or too idiotic to take care of this situation whatsoever.

"So you see why I have called you on my ship?" Teague motioned to Sarita, who had begun to vomit on deck. "Someone wipe that."

"GERRY! WIPE THAT!" Leech pointed with one dirty fingernail at the green, bubbling froth on the floor. Blood began to come out with it.

"That's terrible. Y'know, when Leech met up with me, I says to him, I says, 'I can fix any sorta problem that a Doctor'd need to fix,' and here I am, ready to fix."

"Then fix," said Teague. He dropped his voice very low. "Look, she may be a whore, but she means more to me, I think. She's… I mean, my son… it _is_ a son, isn't it?"

"Has to be, has you looked at 'er tums?" Dennivers looked at it. "I understand, Cap'n, and as long as I have her in my care I'll make sure no one takes advantage."

"Good man."

The ship was hardly out to sea when Leech began to yell. "CAPTAIN TEAGUE, SIR! THE MAIN RIGGING, IT'S FALLEN OFF!"

"Shit," Teague swore again. "Shit!" They weren't too far from shore… "TURN THE BLOODY THING AROUND! AROUND! BACK TO SHORE. HARD TO STARBOARD!" A sharp swing would do it, and no one would get hurt.

Sarita screamed again. She was still on the deck. "DENNIVERS!"

"OH MY GOD, IT'S… THE BABY THING… 'ES COMIN' OUT! I SEE A HEAD! AW, JESUS, CAN' YOU PEOPLE BE A LI'L MORE GENTLER? FUCKIN' HELL."

Teague wheeled around and scampered over to Sarita. "C'mon, dear, c'mon, _push_. We've gotta go fast, Missy, there's a storm…"

Sarita screamed. "He's stuck!" She screamed, moaning as she attempted to push the baby out. The ship swerved, tossed, and water splashed on deck. The waves roared past as those trying to push it back in a regular direction were running around on deck.

"IT'S A TYPHOON! WE'RE GONNA DIE!"

"Shut up, you feckless ingrate!" yelled Teague. "If we make it through this, then I'm demoting you from First Mate to regular crewmember."

Sarita screamed again. "C'mon, Miss, c'mon," Dennivers was muttering, and then… the baby was out. "Quick, take the baby!" Dennivers shoved the blood-covered _thing_ into Teague's hands. Teague shuddered. Babies… covered in blood… weren't his favorite things in the world. But the baby's face, it looked just like him. "'Ello, Jackie."

He sat in the crews quarters, trying his best to keep the baby from getting its neck broken… and now, he reckoned it looked pretty cute. Teague shook his head. The hell was happening to him? Nothing was cute. When the storm was finally over, he walked back outside and stood by the helm. Dennivers approached him.

"Is she all right?"

"Yes, I've got 'er stitched up. Bloody mess. I says to 'er –"

"I don't care," said Teague. "Get her to the private quarters."

Dennivers, with the assistance of two other crewmembers, took Sarita in.

The storm began to clear. "Well, that's convenient." Teague looked up in the sky. The sun was setting – and a single bird flew across, silhouetted by the light. Teague looked back down at the slime-covered baby. "Interesting, innit, Jackie?" He pondered for another moment, and began wiping the slime off the baby with a rag. "Jackie… Jack Sparrow."


	2. Bullets

**Author's Note:** _I know, it's a quick update! I'm just very excited for what I have in store for this story. If you've read the unedited version, you have a brief, moderately less-detailed version of what's to come. What does this mean? Oh, it means the world is coming to an end and Jack will save us all. No, I'm kidding. Maybe. Just strap on, read, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, and enjoy! (Seriously, though. Tell me if you think it sucks, too. Just review. Jack's life depends on it.)_

_

* * *

_

**Chapter Two**

Bullets

_BANG_. _Plop. BANG-BANG. Plop…plop._ Jack shot melons with his old, worn out pistol as if nothing else was more important. He grinned as the other boys watched, jealously. Some were English, some were half-Indian, like his mother, and some were just natives. _BANG_.

"Jackie, can I try?" asked a runty-looking fellow. Jack turned to him and smirked, giving him a once-over. The boy looked seedy. Jack figured that if he let the boy use his pistol, it would never be seen again.

"No. You can't." Jack turned back and shot more melons down. "Dig in, gents!" The boys attacked the melons as though they had been starving for days. Some had, actually. Jack picked out the biggest melon of the lot and walked back to his mummy's little shack of a home on the shore.

"Where you goin', Jackie?" Jack turned. Seedy-boy had followed him all this way, and he was eyeing the melon and the pistol with greed like no other. Jack held the melon and the pistol close to himself, as if saying "Mine."

"Home. Now sod off." Jack grinned. His mummy would've flipped a tiger if she'd heard him. Proud, he kicked the door open, went inside, and set his things on the table.

Mums was cooking. It smelled of beets. "Mums, I'm home." Jack sat down and scratched his head. He was ten years old, and already he was a God among the insects.

"You took your father's old pistol, didn't you?" asked his mother, coming out with a plate of food. Jack immediately grew hungry at the sight of it all.

"Wha'? …No. I didn't."

"Don't lie, I see it. You're not to touch that until you're older, Jackie. You could shoot yourself – or someone else – on accident."

"There'll be no accidents when it comes to me shooting, mumsy. I'm too good. Melon?"

Jack's mother raised both eyebrows at the sight of the melon, and then shook her head.

"Good enough." And with that, Jack bent his head and took a big chomp out of the melon.

"Jackie, dear, what's your friend Peeves doing?" Jack looked up. Through the open front door, they could both see the seedy boy, Peeves, waving and signaling at something.

"I dunno. Probably waving at some ship. Idiot." Jack bent his neck back down to enjoy his melon.

Within moments, the peace Jack enjoyed thanks to the melon – and the food, of course – was disturbed. There was screaming, yelling, and cursing coming from outside. A pandemonium had disturbed the quietness of the south Indian shore.

Jack instinctively picked up his pistol and cocked it. "Mummy, hide. Now."

"Jack, you come here this instant. I won't lose you, too." Jack didn't know what she meant by _too_, but he shook his head and pointed the gun at the little closet behind a wall.

"Mummy, go in there. I'll go hide. Promise." Jack was lying through his teeth. But he wanted to prove he could take care of himself – if not to mummy, then to father, who was never there. When he next came back, he'd see just how brave little Jackie was, and give him a sword, and let him on his merchant sailing ship, and show him around the world. But enough of that. Jack scrambled into his room, sitting on the floor beside his bed, against the wall, and below the window. No one would see him. Satisfied, his mother ran into the closet.

Then, the crying began. Jack heard distinctive figures above his window – one voice he recognized. It was Peeves. Idiotic and foolish as the boy was, Jack wasn't about to let him get murdered by a group of pirates. Jack stuck his arm under his bed, while staying against the wall, and pulled out his trunk. It was a small trunk – and the contents weren't of much monetary value. It all mattered to him, though. He pushed the trunk against the wall and climbed up, looking through the window. There was Peeves, being roughly handled by a man twice his size. "GIMME THE GOLD, BOY."

Jack smirked. The man looked like he was one of those big, but stupid, types. Jack aimed his pistol, squinting as he focused, and shot the man in the foot.

It was impressive to see how a man as big as that could squeal like a little girl who dropped her sweets. Jack smirked again, shooting the other foot. The man yelped and hopped around. "Peeves, quick, down here!" Jack motioned towards himself, hoping Peeves would jump in. Instead, Peeves grinned.

"Oh no," said Peeves. "No, no, no, no. This is too good." And with that, Peeves turned, yelling to the lot of pirates on the other side of the house. "QUICK, SOME ARE IN HERE!"

Jack's eyes narrowed. Peeves was with this crew? "You'll pay for this, Peeves. I swear it."

"Yeah, right. Like you could do anything about it. You're just a scrawny little arse with no daddy and a whore for a mum."

Jack began walking through the sand, menacingly, at Peeves. "You take that back."

"No. Whore's son."

"You take that back, Peeves, or I'll tear your hair out." At this point, it didn't matter how old Jack was. He looked like a troll. An angry, vicious troll. Peeves gulped and ran away. Jack followed.

It wasn't until he was grabbed by a hulking figure of a man that Jack started screaming for dear life. "I'LL CUT YOU. I'LL SHOOT YOUR FACE OFF. LET GO OF ME!"

"This is the runt, then?" asked the hulk.

"That be him, Jackman. That be him."

They began dragging Jack towards their ship. Why Jack of all people, he didn't understand – all he knew was that he needed to get out of this dilemma. He patted around, looking for his pistol, all the while kicking and screaming. No such luck. The pistol, he then noticed, was hanging from Jackman's belt. Thinking quick, he kicked the man square between the legs, forcing him to drop Jack. Jack scrambled around, picked up his gun, and pointed it at Jackman. It was only then that he realized two more pistols were pointed at him.

"I wouldn't be doin' that, if I were you," a voice came from behind Jack. It sounded eerily familiar. Too familiar. Jack turned, gulping as he did it.

Whispers and murmurs grew, making Jack uncomfortable. "…Lord, he is, that one…" "…Madagascar…" "…You let 'im find us?..."

"What's your point and purpose in takin' this here boy, men?" Teague walked, menacingly, towards, the group of pirates that had Jack cornered. Their leader walked forward.

_He's got balls_, Jack thought. He raised his pistol at the man's face, attempting to be valiant. Teague was not impressed.

"Getting to you, actually. It seems our work's been easy done, though, gents, innit?" The men laughed. Stupidly. It wasn't as though what they were about to get warranted laughter. "This little bugger was hard to find. We thought he'd be back in England."

England was a place Jack hadn't been to in years. He'd spent the five of his life there, before his mother had taken enough insults from the people there and decided to move back to her motherland.

"You really think I'm that stupid?" Teague's crew began to appear behind him. "Get out. And if you so much as set foot on the shoreline one more time, I'll have your guts for garters."

The leader smirked. "Well, then, Teague. You can't run forever. Gents!" And with that, he and his idiot crew, including Jackman, headed back to their scrawny ship.

* * *

Once they were out of sight, Jack turned to Teague. "Father, I –" but before Jack could continue, Teague smacked him across the face. Startled, Jack stumbled backwards. "Wh – what was –"

"You _idiot_. You should've stayed with your mother."

Jack's eyes started welling up. "But – I wanted to –"

"Nevermind what you wanted to do, Jack. Your mother's suffered hardships, the likes of which you've seen hardly any."

Jack's shoulders slumped forward, dejected. He'd never felt like so much of a failure before in his life. He ran, with speed, off to his mother's shack-home, leaving his father walking behind him, still angry.

"Mumsy?" he wanted to hug her. She always cheered him up. There wasn't anyone he loved in the world more than his mother – and there wasn't anyone else who could cheer him quite as much. "Mumma?" No response.

Teague reached the house. "Where's your mum, boy?"

Jack shook his head. "How stupid of me." He went towards the closet and knocked. "Mummy? They're gone." No response. Jack scratched his head. "Mummy?" He opened the closet door

There was his mother, dead, a bullet in the middle of her sweet, smooth forehead, her hand still around the locket that bore his image.

Jack had never felt so alone in his life.


	3. Stowaways and Rum

**A/N: **_Thanks for the review on the story so far! I cannot stress enough how much reviews mean to me. So, before you read chapter three, remember to review once you're done reading so that I know what you think and how I can improve! Read, __**review**__, and enjoy :)_

* * *

**Chapter Three**

Stowaways and Rum

Two days passed since Jack's mother had died, and no one said a word or lifted a finger in consolation. Jack refused to stay anywhere near the shack of a home in which he had been raised – in fact, he had one of his father's deckhands, Andrew Dobner, go into the house and fetch his trunk full of useless goods. A few coins here, some maps there. A painting. A few trinkets that meant nothing to anyone, but made him feel certain that he could harness the powers of ancient Hindu gods. Letters from his mother that he had never read, but was told to keep until she passed.

He refused to touch them.

Those two nights, Jack came and sat alone on the shore, the water soothing his bruised feet and the wind blowing through his hair. If only it could mend his torn heart. Nothing had ever killed him halfway inside, but his mother's death did.

It was on the third night, when he came to sit at the shore, that Jack realized someone had followed him. There was a sudden movement in the plants behind him. Jack jumped up, quickly wiping his eyes. No one would see him in such a fragile state, whether or not he was just a child. No, he was Jack Sparrow, and he would live up to the name his mother dreamed he'd have.

"Who's there?" Jack asked, pulling out his father's old pistol. There, the bush quaked. Jack's back stiffened as he walked forward; he could hear silent laughter. After moments of contemplation, Jack reached into the bush and pulled whomever it was up by the hair.

"Yowch, what was that for?" the scrawny runt of a kid slapped Jack's hand away. Jack let him fall on the ground. The runt looked up – and Jack's eyes immediately filled with darkness.

"_Peeves_."

"Yeah, you sod. And what's it to you?" Jack threw his pistol in the sand and jumped Peeves, beating him left and right. He wouldn't stop – not for Peeves's crying, not for the rest of the world. "Jack, stop!"

"NO!" Jack continued giving Peeves blows with his fist, kicking him, biting him. Peeves was in too much pain to notice that all the while, Jack was crying. "I LOST MY MOTHER, PEEVES. I LOST EVERYTHING I HAD – ALL BECAUSE OF YOU." Jack kicked Peeves square between the legs, stood up, and spat on him. "I hate you."

Peeves groaned, blood from his nose and mouth mixing with the sand. He grabbed his side, rolled over, and moaned. "You're a bloody, sodding whore's son, Jack Sparrow."

Jack came back again and kicked Peeves in the face, forcing him unconscious. Jack kicked him once more, just for good measure, and turned around, immediately walking into Dobner.

"Wha's this, Jackie?" asked Dobner, looking over at Peeves.

"'S nothing, Dobner," said Jack, dragging his feet through the sand.

"It's something, all right. Who's this soddy little arse?"

"This soddy little arse is Peeves. Thanks to him, we've all lost our peace."

Dobner looked down and observed Peeves. "Ugly little runt, innit?" He stuck his foot out and rolled Peeves over with his toe. "Probably one of 'em demonspawn."

Jack smirked, walking away. Dobner was superstitious as anything – and just a boy, at that.

"I'll tell ye what we do to betrayers on our ship…" said Dobner. Jack stopped in his tracks, turning to face Dobner. He was curious as to what it was that his father endorsed. "We take the feckless ingrate out to uncharted waters – outside of trade routes. No one be knowin' where it is. And we find ourselves an island. Not just any island, no, but an island that be uninhabited. And we take the betrayer to shore with a pistol… with only one shot. We leave 'im on the island to die. Give it a few days, and that pistol be lookin' real friendly…"

Jack thought about this for a few moments. Peeves, if anyone, deserved this fate. He was a betrayer, a false friend. But then Jack shook his head. His mother would not have been proud of him for thinking such a thing. "I know of no one who deserves such a fate."

"Not even this little runt?" Dobner poked Peeves with his foot.

Jack looked at Peeves through hating eyes. "No. He's no betrayer." Jack turned and walked away from the shore. "He's just a coward."

* * *

The next morning, Teague announced that he would be leaving with his ship, and that Jack was to stay with a woman named Ophie Clarence, who often took care of children of men away at sea. She was known for smelling like cabbages, talking too often about her twenty-or-more cats, and making cakes out of blood, sweat, and tears of the children she watched – or so it was rumoured. Jack, of course, did not take to this very well.

In fact, in protestation, Jack took his chest and snuck aboard his father's ship, the _Excellence_, and stowed away in the lowest deck with hammocks.

It stank of vomit and old rum, but Jack didn't mind. Anywhere but _there_. He couldn't go back, not for a while. Jack looked around in the dark for a light, but all he could find was a small stub of wax with a tiny thread poking out of the point. Using a match from within his trunk, Jack lit the candle and sat within the hammock furthest away from the stairs. He opened his trunk.

The first thing Jack realized was that his trunk was upside down. Out rolled four little silver trinkets. "Shit," Jack mumbled, picking them up before they fell through the hammock's holes. "Shitty shit." He picked them up and helplessly rang his hands. "Erm." Jack attempted to put them back in his trunk, but they rolled back out. There were far too many things in the trunk to begin with.

One got caught in a braid of his cheek-length hair. As Jack reached up to take it out, sudden inspiration hit him. He might as well leave it in. Better a reminder of his tougher trials on his person than a reminder of good times locked away in a chest.

"Jack, what're you doing?" came a voice from behind. Alarmed, Jack accidentally knocked the candle stub over. It fell into a puddle of water and fizzled out into smoke.

"I was just – I was… I was –"

"Relax, Jack. It's just me." Jack turned – it was Dobner. "Won't rat you out. Can't blame you for runnin' away from ol' Ophie Clarence. I had to stay wiv' 'er too, once, meself. Never felt moderately sane again." Dobner coughed, pulled out a half-empty bottle of rum, and drank it down. "Ah. Much better." Dobner noticed the new trinkets in Jack's hair. "Wuzzat?"

"Er –" Jack took in a breath. "They're my, er… things."

"Aye, jus' as well." Dobner took another gulp. "Wan' some?" Jack shrugged. When he tried a sip, however, he choked.

"That's disgusting."

"Tis rum, mate. Finest in these waters, I wager." Dobner drank more. "Ah. Never can be enough rum. You'll learn that one day."

Jack shook his head. "Unlikely. I don't do disgusting things."

Dobner smirked. "You will, on a pirate ship."

"As if I'm ever likely to go on a pirates ship," Jack said, rolling his eyes. Dobner sat back, amused.

"Ever likely?"

"I intend on following my father's footsteps, you know, becoming a trader an' the like," mumbled Jack.

"Well, now. You'll certainly be, er… of 'the like.'" Dobner shook his head. Jack obviously knew nothing. "'Scuse me, Jack. I better get back to scrubbin' the decks, or your father'll have my neck." Dobner patted Jack on the back and walked back upstairs.

Jack, of course, knew something wasn't right about any of this.

Especially when it came to the trunk full of stolen gold that Jack found right under his resting place.


	4. The Cove

**A/N:** _well, uh. Here's chapter four, finally! As always, read, __**review**__, and enjoy. Also, for various reasons, I'm changing the rating of this to "M." It's just a precaution. Plus, I'd like to be realistic in my writing, not censored. This is also more or less a filler chapter. It leads in to the next one pretty nicely, I think._

**Chapter Four**

The Cove

It didn't take long for Jack to piece the puzzle together. In fact, everything was blaringly obvious. He just didn't want to believe it. It was against everything his mother stood for, everything she believed in. His father was a pirate, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Edward Teague, pirate Captain of the _Excellence_ – and not the captain of a merchant vessel. _Why go through all the trouble of covering it up?_ It was beyond Jack. His father was never one to concern himself with the thoughts of and assumptions made by other people. This… _This_ was beyond him. And it hurt him more than anything else, even his own mother's death. The virtually nonexistent father that he dreamed of – that his mother believed in – was no more than a lie.

He resolved not to speak with Teague, and to get off at the next available port before anyone but Dobner took notice of him. He would be gone, and his wretched father would not discover that his son was missing until it was far too late.

* * *

Teague would not leave the Captain's Quarters. In fact, much of the crew doubted he was even on the ship in the first place – as if there was some sort of accidental mutiny. The rest of the crew firmly believed Teague was releasing his stresses. A fearsome pirate, after all, would never be seen with tears shone on his face.

But this was not the case at all. Teague was far from tearful, or even remotely nonexistent insofar as his ship was concerned. He was certainly up to _something_ in his Quarters. The orders passed through Leech were very odd to the crewmembers; they'd never traveled this course, nor had they ever heard of anyone else doing so. It was a dangerous course, as evidenced by the number of wrecks they came across. The half-rotten corpses of men recently deceased sometimes floated at the surface, above the hammerhead sharks that passed beneath them.

It was an eerie pass. And it made Leech all the more comfortable that he did not have to do much work, only to command it. He had a key to the safest hold inside the ship, should anything come for them. Even Teague didn't know about it – or so he was sure.

Teague, despite hearing the scared whispers of his crew outside his door, remained in his quarters, silently plotting. The crew that came for them – his son, his… Sarita – had to be stopped. And he could do the damn deed himself, but it wouldn't be enough. More would come, like the tide. No, Teague needed to send out a message, and there were very few ways to effectively draw it out.

He considered traveling to the Caribbean in order to see the deed through. The new world was being set there, especially for pirates, what with the cotton and drug markets booming. Rum was no longer a precious resource. Smugglers took control of uncharted islands – Teague was certain he would be able to easily muster up enough brute forces. There was a single problem, though: no pirate there was notorious enough to mean anything. They were all new to the life. Soft, even. Teague wouldn't dare show his face among such spineless ingrates, not until they proved their salt.

Thus came the need to travel to the apparent unknown, a place he'd been twice before. It had a name, yes, but he preferred to keep things hushed. Whatever the crew did not know would likely kill them, but it was better than them becoming feckless, knowing all about what was coming.

* * *

His duties relieved for a short mid-day meal, Dobner snuck some of the food the cooks had prepared on the ship down belowdecks. Jack was well hidden in a hammock behind a wall, comfortable but very zombie-like. He felt sick – and the throw-up on the floor evidenced the very thing. Not to mention the emotions raging in his head. He felt like a woman during "that time of month."

"Aish… Jack, why in the hell didn'chu get rid of this mess?" Dobner tried carefully to avoid the spills on the ground, pinching his nose. "Smells worse than the Bo'sun."

"Didn't want to leave."

"…You didn't wanna leave this miserable hell-hole?"

"Yes. I mean, no. No, I didn't wanna leave."

"Why?"

"Teague."

"Tha's Cap'n Teague to you, boy," said Dobner, grabbing a mop to swab away the former contents of Jack's stomach. "Oi. I know what the smell is. It's a woman givin' chil'-birf."

"Shut up," muttered Jack.

Dobner laughed. "'Ave you had anything to eat, Jackie?"

"Do I look like I've had anything to eat?"

"'E's got the temperament of a bitch in heat too, I see."

"No. No, I haven't had anything to eat."

"Right, well, you're in luck." He put the mop to the side and emptied the contents of his satchel onto a cloth he'd placed on Jack's lap, then held out a bottle half-full of rum. "It isn't much, but I fink it'll work summat good on ya."

Jack looked at the food closely. He hadn't been exposed to food cooked this way in quite some time – only Indian spices and delicacies of the type. But he was grateful. He opened his mouth to say something, but he didn't know what to say.

"You're welcome. Jus' don't let the cook know I've stolen food, or he'll have my damn neck." Dobner grinned and stood up.

"I –"

"Don't thank me, boy. I'm jus' doing whatever the hell as can be done to save me otherwise blackened soul, savvy?"

Jack nodded. "'Course."

This routine was repeated for another two days, with the exception of Jack's vomiting. He'd become healthier, and had begun speaking a bit more. Teague had no clue that Jack was on board, or at least, he'd made no mention. There were whispers on board, of course, but nothing more. At last, they'd reached the place where they were headed – that is to say; they reached the outside of it.

The cove was surrounded by an impenetrable fortress of rock. It looked vile, twisted, with very few trees at the top of it. Jack didn't look. He didn't care. What he did care about, though, was the nameless stew he was chomping on – a very unwise focus at the time, as it was then when Teague decided to show his face.

The booming noise that was his daddy dearest's voice, erupting from his chest, made it all the way from the poop deck down below. Jack dropped the spoon into the dirty bowl, but it made no difference.

"ALL HANDS ON DECK!"

And the running began. Man-by-man, footstep-by-footstep. Jack held his breath behind the half-broken wall, hoping no one would look through the cracks and see him. His 'bout of bad luck would've probably killed him right then and there if he were spotted, because not everyone knew he was Teague's child.

But luckily nothing happened. The deckhands maneuvered the ship through a very narrow passageway until they'd reached the cove itself.

"Probably woulda never made it if it wasn't fer your daddy-o," mumbled Dobner, exhausted, as he fell onto the hammock next to the cracked wall.

"Yeah?"

"Legend 'as it that no man can get in 'ere wif'out losin' a few limbs. Course, your pops be a legend 'imself, didn't have no problems gettin' in. And that too 'froo a shortcut. I tell you, that man –"

"Well, Dobner, I would _much rather_ we talked about dear old Daddy Teague all day, but it's unfortunately serving as an incessant buzzing in my ears, and I'm afraid this will be my final stop."

Dobner raised his brows. "Yeah?"

"Oh, yes." Jack peeked through the crack. "Anyone out there, mate?"

"Jus' you an' me, Jack."

"Good." And with that, he knocked out the panel and slid out, carrying his trunk full of personal belongings with him.

"Needed to stretch me legs. Haven't been out 'cept for a piss three hours ago."

"Too many details, mate. Come on."

Jack shrugged, going up the stairs to the poop deck. The ladders were still up. He grinned, getting ready to head off.

"Leaving so soon?"

Jack turned to face Dobner. "Yes. I mean, it seems only right. Can't seem to be within a one-hundred-foot radius of padre without thinking of my mums."

"Sounds fair." Dobner looked a little dejected.

"Look, mate –" Jack held out his hand. "I really owe you. You ever need any help, at any time, just make sure you call for Jack Sparrow. I'll hear tell and make my way back to you."

Dobner grinned and shook it. "I'm holdin' you to it."

"You've got my word." Jack climbed down the ladder and into the shipwreck-laden cove.


End file.
